What the Heart Wants
by marebear11
Summary: For most of her life, Gabriella Montez has been in and out of hospitals. She's finally come to terms when fate intervenes. Troy Bolton is forced to pick up the pieces of his life, when an accident takes away the love of his life and leaves him lost. The two meet in the most unlikely of ways,and Gabriella must decide if what she feels is real or if its just what her new heart wants.
1. Prologue

**What the Heart Wants**

**Prologue**

It's incredibly hard to be alive. I wonder if people ever consider that. Maybe it's easy for everyone else, but it certainly isn't for me. I'm sick of the medications and the therapy. It all hurts more than it helps. It's been this way since I can remember. My earliest memory is running on the playground, chasing a classmate, and suddenly being on the ground. It's been a battle to keep going ever since, and frankly I'm exhausted. Why do I have to fight against myself for a chance to live?

I think I've finally found a way out. I pop open the cap to the prescription bottle. I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. It's so simple, and mom has always been nagging me to take my meds. Shaking a handful of the pills into my hand, I take a deep breath. I gulp the pills down with some water. Shouldn't be long now.

I go to the small window of our temporary apartment. We'd rented it a while back while we were seeing a specialist. Back then, I was excited to go to California. There are so many places to see and visit. I even made a list, but we didn't have time for them between doctor visits. I was usually too tired after therapy or mom was tied up with the insurance company on the phone. So we never went, and I settled on admiring it from afar.

The view from the apartment is amazing. It overlooks a beautiful part of the city. I can always see the people rushing and moving, so busy. Too busy. Don't they know what they're missing? The abundance of purple flowers spilling out of those hanging baskets over the little bakery? The great fountain in the center of the small park across the street? These things were so close to me, and I'd never get to appreciate them. Yet, they all walk by without even blinking at it. I see a group of girls around my age walk by the bakery. They stop at the music store next to it and gush over the poster of a pop star and I wish it was me. My heart starts to speed up and I feel my chest tighten.

Finally, I won't have to crave the normalcy anymore. If my weak heart wants to fight with me, it can win. There's no point in being 15 and sickly. There's no place in the world that can make you feel comfortable or happy. The doctors will always try to soften the blow by saying you've got so much to live for. Prom? Dating? I'd love to see them try to make friends or go to school with an oxygen tank and a case containing pills. Guys love it. They even gave me an endearing nickname, Pharmacy. That's why I have to leave. Judging from books and movies, it's hard enough being this age without health problems. Adding those in either gets you pity or picked on. Take a guess at the card I drew. Facing pain I was never prepared for. Kids are never horrible to each other in the movies. They pity the sick kid and make them get well soon cards. Kids at my school don't even look my way.

I feel my body growing heavy. It's difficult to stand. I reach my hand up to grab the window sill, but I can't make it grip. I hit the ground with a thud, but it doesn't feel bad. I could barely hear it. My eyes are blurring. This is it. I can feel myself smiling a little. My eyes are no longer seeing the world in front of me, but instead a white cloud.

"Gabi!" I hear a muffled voice call. I move my mouth to answer but nothing comes out. "Gabi please!" Oh God, please no. Don't let her be the one to witness this. "Gabi!"

* * *

><p><strong>A few hours earlier:<strong>

"Miranda, just come out with me." Troy pleaded. He stuck his head farther inside his girlfriend's window. He sat down on her fire escape enjoying the California sun.

"T, I can't. I'm supposed to be studying." Her English accent came out with her reply.

"It's spring break!" He laughed, finally climbing inside.

"Maybe for you Mr. Division I athlete." She said and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Med school, however, never takes a break."

"Baby, you've got to leave this room. You'll fry up that brilliant mind of yours if you don't."

"Troy Bolton, I can't. I worked really hard to get this visa and grant. I'm up to my elbows in research and if I don't get this done, I'll never get to see you play."

"Mira, I'm about to be drafted. If you want to see me play, I'll order ESPN and you can watch me next month." Miranda laughed, she couldn't help it. Troy and persuasive went hand in hand. "Please, slum it for an hour or two with a dumb ol' jock and just relax." He took the textbook from her lap and brought her in for a kiss.

"Okay." She said, scooting off the bed. "What exactly do you planned?" She moved to the dresser and began pulling out clothes.

"Well, in order to properly procrastinate we need to eat, sleep, and play. In that order." He stood and took her in his arms. Miranda removed her shirt and kissed his lips sweetly.

"How about we reverse the order?" Troy smiled. He loved when she got playful. He planted his lips on hers and she giggled as they fell to the bed.

Hours later, they lay wrapped in the blankets of Miranda's bed. "Okay, so we've played and slept. What's next?" She smiled as Troy wrapped his arms around her.

"Now, we get my princess something to eat."

"Can't we just have something ordered?" Miranda groaned, she was far too relax to move.

"Babe, the point was to leave the room." Troy laughed as he pulled on his clothes.

"I've taken a long enough break. We should just order something and eat in." He leaned down to kiss her lip.

"Babe, I came here to take you out. We've got so much to celebrate. We're about to be living the dream!" Miranda giggled at his enthusiasm and got dressed.

They headed out to Troy's pickup and got in. With buckled seat belts, they pulled into traffic. "Thank you for bringing me out. I really did need this." Miranda smiled and let the window down to feel the afternoon breeze.

"I know. You work so hard. I want you to reward yourself sometimes, but if you don't I will." They shared a quick kiss.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"Of course I do. Don't know why, but I'm not complaining, and I'm definitely not gonna try and change your mind." She laughed hard and leaned into him. "I love you too." Miranda gave his arm a squeeze and sat back in silence looking out of the window.

Everything was perfect. She was in the most perfect relationship and climbing her way through med school. Troy was a top prospect to be drafted into the NBA, it couldn't get any better. Their lives were firmly in place and going nowhere but up.

She turned and looked at him. As if he could feel her staring, he met her gaze. He smiled wide and laughed. As soon as his smile came, it was gone. His expression changed rapidly to one of horror. Miranda whirled her head around to see what he was looking at and was met with the headlights of an 18-wheeler. She felt Troy's arms around her as he pulled her close, and that was it.

* * *

><p>The constant beeping of hospital machines was a sound I'd grown accustomed to. I know where I am the minute I hear it. I try to move, but my arm is weighed down by the IV medicine I'm apparently getting. The rest of my body feels far too heavy to move. My chest is numb, but maybe that's because of the pills. I lay still, staring up at the white ceiling. My eyes drift over to the walls, and I can tell by the way everything is so pristine and bright that I'm in the Intensive Care Unit.<p>

Had the entire thing been a dream? Had I not actually done that? There's movement from the far corner of the room. I turn my head and see my mom shifting in her chair. She flips the pages of a magazine and glances up at me. She does a double take before flinging the book into her seat and rushing over to me. "Gabi, baby are you okay?"

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is scratchy and dry. Mom hands me a cup of water as I cough. "I'm okay." Finally, I answer her.

"Honey, what happened?" Her hand grips mine. I don't answer, I'm not sure if she means what I did or in general. "Why would you..."

"I'm sorry." I never meant for her to be the one to find me. I suppose, if I'd given it any real thought, I'd have realized she's the only person that would actually come in the apartment. "What happened?"

I watch as she pulls the chair over to the bed and sits. Her hands grip mine again. "You were passed out. I called your name but you wouldn't respond. I went for the phone and saw your empty bottle. I dialed and threw some water on you. You came to long enough for me to get you to throw up." So that's why my throat hurts. My hand goes to my neck. I can't even look at her. "Baby, why would you do something like this?"

"It..." I'm fully prepared to lie. I don't want her upset. "I'm sorry mom. I didn't want you to find me like that."

"You really meant to do that? Hurt yourself?" We both knew it was more than just hurting myself. "I thought we discussed this, talking about things that make you upset."

"It wasn't the kind of pain you could take away by talking." I look down at myself. The pale hospital gown, the wristbands. "I'm sorry that you had to see that. But mom, it's going to happen at some point. I've spent two thirds of my life in places like this. Clinics, rehabs, hospitals, it never ends. Never gets better." I pull on the gown and it falls down a little. My eyes widen. There's a bandage on my chest, directly over my heart. Had the damage really been that bad?

"Sweetie, I was coming home to tell you some very important news. Doctor Porter called, they found a heart for you." I sit up, and immediately regret it. My body isn't ready for me to do anything yet. Mom smoothes the hair around my face. My light brown eyes look right into hers.

"A heart?"

"Yes." Mom smiles. "The ambulance came and took you in right away. They got you stabilized and did the transplant."

"How long have I been out?" My voice rasps. Mom hands me the water again.

"About four days. Your body has been through a lot of trauma."

"Where did the heart come from?"

"Honey, that's not important. What you need to do now is focus on getting stronger. They'll be a lot of people coming in to speak with you now that you're awake. Just let me know if it gets overwhelming and we'll take a break." She stands and kisses me . "I'm going to go let the nurse know."

Mom leaves me with my thoughts. A heart transplant. I get to start over, despite what I tried to do. That has to mean something. Part of me is excited, but reality sets in quick. Another person is dead. I don't know the cause, but it makes me feel horrible about what I tried to do. I got lucky and they lost their life. How can anyone be excited about that?

A few days later, mom let me go to the physical therapy gym at the hospital alone. She'd been so scared, but I felt fine. I didn't feel tired or sleepy. I didn't get winded. I walked slowly in and took a deep breath. "Gabriella, nice to see you walking." The physical therapist greets.

"Yeah," I smile. "Mom finally let me out alone."

"That's good. Why don't you warm up with a couple laps around the room." I nod and start walking. It's amazing to see everyone working so hard to get back to normal. They gym has yellow walls, which are supposed to inspire us to look to the bright side. The floor is tiled black, with exercise mats under the equipment. I glance in the mirrors that line the far wall of the gym as I pass them. I can see the change in myself already. The dark circles that normally rest under my eyes are fading, and my tan skin actually looks tan rather than pasty. I allow myself to smile. I think even my hair has a little more shine. For once, my reflection doesn't look sickly and fragile.

"Dammit!" I hear a man yell. In the mirror, I can see a guy has lost his balance and fallen. I turn and rush over to help him. I grab his arm but he snatches it away. "I'm fine." He barks.

I don't say anything at first. He pulls his wheelchair over and tries to get in. I reach up and put the brakes in a lock position for him. "It gets easier." I was in his position not too long ago. His eyes look up at me. They're a piercing color blue, almost clear. His face is twisted up into a frown.

"I know how therapy works." He grunts after getting seated back into his chair. I look down at the air-cast he has around his ankle and the brace on his knee.

"Troy, please don't try to walk alone." Another therapist comes over to us. Troy rolls his eyes. He mumbles words I can't make out before moving maneuvering the chair away. "Poor guy has had it rough." I turn to the her. "He was a top prospect for the NBA, now he can barely walk, and will probably never play again. At least not the same. Car accident wasn't even his fault." Frowning, I look back over to him. He's positioned himself in front of the mirror wall with his head in his hands. He's gripping his dark, shaggy hair. Instantly, I feel sorry for him.

My therapist came over and got me started on the workout. I complete it a little faster than I did earlier in the week. After, I get back to my room on the step-down unit. I go inside and close the door, thankful to have that luxury now that I'm doing better. I sit on the bed and look up to the television.

"Hi." A girl stands in the corner of my room, watching me.

"Uh, hey." I say, not really sure what else to do. "Lost?"

"I think so." Her voice quivers, but the English accent of hers is hard to miss.

"Who're you looking for? It's a pretty big floor, so you probably mixed up the room numbers."

"No, not lost like that." She says, smoothing the skirt of her tan floral dress. "I mean, I don't know where I am."

"Oh," Okay, now I'm a little worried. Maybe she wandered down from the psyche ward. "Why don't I call the nurse and she can help you get back to your room?" I don't wait for her to answer before pressing the call button.

"I don't even remember coming here." She runs a hand through her dirty blonde hair. "I was on my way to lunch...and then it's all blank." Definitely psyche patient.

"It's fine..." I stand and open the door. "what was your name?"

"Miranda. My name is Miranda."

"What can I help you with?" The nurse comes in, pitcher in hand, ready to refill my water.

"This girl is lost. She can't remember where she's trying to go."

The nurse looks at me for a moment. "What girl?"

"Her." I point to Miranda. She smiles bashfully. "She's lost."

"Gabriella, are you feeling okay?" My nurse asks and moves closer to my face.

"Yeah, I came back from PT and she was standing there." I turn to Miranda.

"I'm sorry for causing trouble. I just honestly need to know how to get to the main floor, and I'll go straight home." Her voice is soft, but still audible. The nurse doesn't blink.

"You can't see her?" I ask. What the heck is happening?

"Honey, maybe you should relax. Did you push yourself too hard in the gym?" She shuffles me to the bed. Miranda's eyes dart from me to the nurse.

"She can't see me?" I shake my head no, answering both Miranda and my nurse. "She can't hear me!" She yells, and I flinch. "Look at me! I'm right here! You dumb broad, look at me! I'm a person too dammit!" Her accent is in full effect. Miranda pants, visibly winded and upset. But the nurse just keeps tucking me in. She pours me a glass of water. "What's happened to me?" She whispers to herself as she slumps to the ground.

"I'll go see if any medication is due. In the mean time, you should think about packing your stuff up. Word on the street is, you're going back home soon."

"I am?" I'd forgotten that California wasn't really my home.

"Yep! The orders have been put in to have you discharged and set up your care back in your hometown. I bet you can't wait to see all your friends." I don't comment. It's hard not to focus on the broken girl in the corner of my hospital room. The nurse leaves, and I hop out of bed.

"Miranda?" She looks up at me sadly. I reach out my hand, and she takes it. I see her grip me, but I don't feel it. "What..."

"I think..." She takes a deep breath. "I think I'm..."

My eyes widen when I realize what she's about to say. "You can't be! I'm staring right at you!"

"No one else can see or hear me! Even when I'm touching you, it's like I'm not." She sobs and stands. Miranda walks over to the wall, takes a breath and walks into it. But she disappears to the other side. Her head pops back into the room. Her mouth is wide open, and I can see the tear that has formed in the corner of her eye.

"I must be dreaming." I breath. There's no other explanation for this.

"What happened to you?" Miranda comes back into the room. She places her hand over the bandage on my chest.

"I..." No, it couldn't be. Things like this don't really happen. "My heart..." I can't finish the sentence. But I don't have to. A moment later, Miranda's deep brown eyes look into mine. Her mouth settles into a small frown.

"You have my heart."

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Note<span>: I hope you all like it! I'll try to update soon. I have a few chapters written, but I don't want to post them all and fall behind. Comments, Suggestions, Questions? Leave them in a review! Or you know, PM me or find me on tumblr!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**Five Years Later**

"You'll never convince her to let you go." Miranda is back at her nagging again. "You're not quite ready to be on your own." Even her accent gets annoying when she's trying to mother me.

We'd been this way since the hospital. Miranda Funke has been with me every single day for the past five years. We suspected that she was the donor I'd received my heart from. The only way to be sure was to agree to meet the donor's family. I'd filled out the paperwork, but they didn't actually want to meet until about a year and a half later. Still, the internet helped shed some light on what actually happened to her.

Miranda had been in the passenger seat of a pickup truck that was plowed by an 18-wheeler running a red light. She'd made it to the hospital, but her condition was bad. I later found out that she was brain dead during surgery and with heavy hearts, her parents decided to let her go. Her mother told me Miranda's mind was far too beautiful to let rot and suffer. After spending all these years with her, I agree.

Miranda took the news surprisingly well. She wasn't concerned so much about how she died, it's more why is she still here. Back when I was 16, we researched stories to find something similar to our situation, but it's not the kind of thing you can confirm. She swore up and down that she didn't have any unfinished business, that she was happy she could save my life even if it meant losing hers. She was a med student, and saving lives was what she always wanted to do.

To this day, I still feel like something is bothering her. We read the papers together and watched the stories on the news, but she would still be confused. I wondered if it had something to do with the accident or if it was the fact that she really couldn't go more than a few feet away from me, no matter how bad she wanted to. She didn't like my rebellious streak one bit.

Now, I'm packing my bags. It's been five years with my new heart, I'm ready to actually start living. What I've done so far has been good. I finished high school, had a few part-time jobs, but I'm still living with mom and being babysat. Today is the day I head back to California with my best friend.

"I won't be on my own. Sharpay will be there." Miranda rolls her eyes at the mention of my best friend. They don't get along.

"That girl has no self control, you'll be homeless in a day."

"Randa, she's not that bad." And she actually isn't. Sharpay Evans has a tough exterior, but she's got a big heart and a good head on her shoulders to go with it. I'll never forget the day I met her.

It was six months after the transplant, mom had finally agreed to put me back in public school. I was feeling more confident about myself. I had all the color back in my face, and it was easy to just blend in with everyone else. I thought it'd be like being the new kid in school. I was wrong, it was so much worst.

Turns out, some of the students remembered me from middle school, before I left. They knew I'd been the sick freaky girl. I could handle the stares, the whispering, and I could even handle the class clowns that wore precaution surgical masks around me. What I couldn't handle, was them calling me Frankenstein. That stung. One of the girls saw the scar on my chest in the locker room while I was changing and reported back to the guys. I couldn't help that the scar was healing, and I hid it as much as I could. But the chanting happened in the lunch room as I was eating. I tried to block it out, but it was tough.

Then, I met Sharpay. Well, she met me. She came into the cafe like a firecracker, yelling at the guys about how they weren't even half as strong as I was. She gave them lip for twenty minutes, cursing and yelling, and no one said a word, not even a teacher. When she was done, she sat down right next to me and introduced herself. I was in awe, and so was Miranda. They may not like each other, but Miranda respects her for what she did that day.

The couple of months after the transplant were rough. We got along well most of the time, but we had to learn how to be around each other. There were times when I needed to be alone, and no matter what, it just wasn't possible. I tried thinking of new ways to test the limits between us every week. Foolishly, I thought that I could make Miranda want to leave, and discovered that she really didn't approve of the intimate moments I spent with a boy. It's kind of embarrassing now, having Miranda be a witness to that side of me. Though, if I'm being completely honest, I really just wanted to shut her up and piss her off back then. My immaturity showed, and Miranda took it as her responsibility to counsel me on my choice going forward.

"You mother is not going to let you move two states away. You can't in your condition."

"My condition?" My actions stop. "I'm perfectly fine. Besides, what better place to live than the city where I got the transplant in the first place. My original doctors are there." I zip up my bag and place it at the foot of my bed.

"But you're just going to leave? You won't even give her notice?"

"I'm 20 years old now, almost 21. I don't even have to tell her." My feet find my shoes and I tie up the laces. "But I will, because I know she'll call the cops."

"Knock, knock." Sharpay says, pushing in the door.

"Doesn't she know that saying knock, knock doesn't mean you were granted entrance?" Miranda stands and walks over to the window. I crack a smile.

"Let me guess, the Brit is talking trash again, right?" I swear she can read my face. Sharpay and I have no secrets. She caught me talking to Miranda one time, and I blurted it all out. I thought she'd run for the hills, but she simply said, "crazier shit has happened" and went on eating. She would always ask what Miranda was saying, and my refusal to answer only confirmed that Miranda wasn't a big fan. Shar runs her hands through her bright blonde hair and looks at me expectantly. Her brown eyes narrow at me.

"She thinks we should stay."

"Bullshit. We've been here our whole lives."

"But mom-"

"Listen to me Gabi. You've done so good. You came back here, went to school, and got well for your mom. Now, you've got to live for you." I smile at her. She always knows what to say to get me inspired. Shar pulls me to my feet and grips my hands tight. "I'm taking Gabi, back to California, and we're gonna see it all." Sharpay hasn't forgot all the things I told her that I wanted to see back when I'd first got there.

"And you'll be a big time actress, bringing home the bacon."

"One step at a time." She giggles. We both know it's true. Sharpay looks like a Barbie. She's perfect for the leading lady in raunchy comedies like _That Awkward Moment_ and romance movies like the _Notebook_. "Now, what do you want to do?"

"Paint." Answering immediately makes me smile. I think of all the places I never got to visit and I just want to paint them to keep forever. "I just want to paint the world."

"And you will. You'll be like Petey Pablo!"

"I hope she means Pablo Picasso and not some washed out rap star." Miranda comes over and stands by the door. Deciding not to correct her, I laugh with my best friend. "Don't forget, you still haven't told your mum." My smile fades.

"God, is she at it again?" Sharpay turns to the window on the opposite side of the room. "Why are you such a killjoy?"

Miranda barks out a laugh. "Someone has to be practical! It's a wonder you both made it through high school!" I smile.

"What did she say now?" Sharpay raises an eyebrow.

"She's shocked we made it through high school."

"No thanks to you, super brain! Like anyone would know where we got the answers. The least you could've done is told Gabi."

Miranda flings her arms up in frustration and walks through the door. Her curls bouncing in every direction.

"She's gone. She was just saying that we still have to tell mom."

"Yeah, but it'll be fine. A small step to something great, right?" She wraps a tan arm around my shoulder and leads me out of the room. "It's like ripping off a Band-Aid."

* * *

><p>It wasn't actually like that. Mom was upset, and pissed that I told her the day I was leaving. But after she was certain that I arranged for my California doctors to take over my care, she let up. Shar and I were out of our small town and landing in California before we knew it. It felt amazing, freeing. Everything was vibrant and alive. The colors, the people, hell even the weather was awesome.<p>

Sharpay had taken the initiative to get an apartment before we come down here. While it was risky to rent the place without seeing it, we were just happy to be here. It turned out to be in a fairly good neighborhood, close to the bus stops and shopping centers. It took a few weeks, but we got ourselves settled in right away. Shar lined up audition after audition. I submitted applications everywhere. I felt hopeless at first, there's not many good jobs that pay well with just a diploma. Luckily, I landed a pretty nice spot at a craft shop. The hours are good, and the customers are the sweetest. Plus, I get all my art supplies half off.

Carter's Crafts and Art Supplies is a fairly large shop situated on the corner of the Main St. intersection. Carter was an older gentleman in his 50s. His shop has been around for years and has its faithful customers. The business was run by him and his daughter, but with her off to school, I found the ideal job.

While everything was going smooth for me, Miranda was erratic. She kept saying she felt like she was missing something. In the five years I'd spent with her, she'd never said that. She would be perfectly fine one minute, and on high alert the next. It didn't bother me, until she got angry that I couldn't feel it too. The connection between us isn't mental or physical, we don't share thoughts or feelings. We can communicate with one another, but that's all. It drives Miranda insane.

"Gabi, I feel it again."

"Come again?" I ask aloud. I direct it at Miranda, but my customer smiles and retrieves her purchases. Miranda comes to sit on the counter so I can see her.

"It's like this gaping hole, sometimes it feels like a wide open space in my chest, and sometimes it's just a little thump." I glance at her. Her face is scrunched in confusion, or pain, I'm not certain which. I want to ask her if she's hurt, but I can't with so many people around.

"How are you feeling today?" Asking this question to the customer prompts Miranda to answer.

"It's more prominent than it has been. I'm almost in pain." She mumbles, watching the door. My customer answers the question but I block them out. I watch the door too, hoping to see what she does. "I can't explain it, I just feel it." We watch the last customer leave.

"Maybe years of not eating is getting to you." I joke. Suddenly, Miranda stands. Walking halfway to the door, she starts fiddling with her fingers.

The door chimes, and in walks the most beautiful man I've ever seen. His brown hair is cut short to his head, the tips feathering a little at the front. His almond shaped eyes are a piercing, crystal blue, and his chin a sharp square, covered in stubble. His lips press against each other in a firm line. Miranda sees him too. Her mouth drops. "T..." She breaths.

"What?" I ask her.

"Excuse me?" The man says, quirking a brow.

"Sorry, how can I help you?"

"T..." Stepping forward, Miranda stretches her arm out.

"Do you guys still do the craft workshops on Saturdays?" He picks up a schedule.

"Um, yeah." Eying Miranda and trying to pay attention to him is a struggle.

"I was hoping to sign up for the Daddy-Daughter session this weekend." Miranda looks as though she's be slapped. She pulls her hand back immediately.

"Daughter?" She mumbles.

"Oh, sure. You just need to fill out this form." I hand him a paper and pen.

"Ask him about his daughter." Miranda says. I look to her. She can't be serious. "Please, I need to know." I shake my head at her, careful not to answer aloud. "Please Gabi, do this for me."

"So, uh...how old is your daughter?" My words sputter out of my mouth.

"Five." He answers without looking up.

"Five?" Miranda's eyes water. She walks over to the window and sits.

"Cool." Who was this guy? And why on earth would she start crying? "She'll definitely love the craft then. We're going combine a little woodworking and make cute bird houses."

He stops writing and looks up at me. "Have you ever built one?"

"Oh, tons. I'm really into this whole painting, and crafting thing." Gesturing with my hands turns out to be a terrible habit. I knock over the handcrafted mug of pens. Mystery man and I bump shoulders as I rush to pick everything up. He bends down to help. "Well, my boss won't be happy about that."

"The mug?"

"Yeah, his daughter made it when he first opened up, years ago. First of his Savvy Craft Saturdays." He looks down at the pieces in my hands. "She's a grown adult now, but to him this thing was like a Grammy, you know?" I laugh nervously. How in the hell was I going to explain this?

"Mr. Carter your boss?" I nod. "Tell him I did it. No sense in taking all the blame." He shrugs and finishes the paper. He seems so nice, why would she be crying? "Saturday at 5, right?"

"Yep! Right before closing." I follow him to the door. "See you then!" I call, and lock the door behind him. "Okay, spill."

Miranda didn't look away from the window. She follows him through the glass as he walks by the craft shop. "That's my T."

"Who?"

"T, he was in the car with me. We were going to eat when..." Her voice trails off.

"He was with you?" She nods.

"I've always wondered what happened to him. We left California so fast, and-" She stops, and wipes a tear from her face. "Apparently, he's been fine."

"What do you mean?" He did look perfectly fine, but if Miranda had been killed, there's no way he walked away without physical scarring, or at the very least emotional.

"He has a daughter. A five year old, Gabi. It's been five years since the accident." She whirls around and starts pacing. "He didn't wait long at all." Sheesh, what am I supposed to say? "What's her name?" Miranda and I both look to the sign in sheet. I rush and grab it before she can do her supernatural thing and pop up over there.

"Miranda, this isn't healthy."

"Ha!" She stares at me. "In case you haven't noticed Gabi, health isn't an issue for me anymore."

"You know what I mean! There's a reason you're still here. Don't let this be added to the list."

"Gabi, this is the reason! The weird feeling I was having, not knowing where I belonged...it's because of him. I felt complete when he walked in that door."

"Then why do this to yourself? You can see that he's alive and well. Don't put yourself through the pain."

"Don't you see? I'm in pain now!" That's when I look at her, really see her. Miranda had bags under her eyes, and tears brimming them. "It's not about being hurt that he didn't mourn me. I just want to make sure he's happy. Maybe then I can move on."

She may be on to something. Miranda never behaved this way, she never cried or raised her voice at me, even when I was doing something stupid. "I just don't want you to be hurt."

"I can take it. I'm older than you, you know?" She is, and she's also been living a half life for five years. "Please." Her pleading gets to me.

"Nikola Funke." I read off the paper, and my eyes connect with hers.

"My...my niece?" Sheesh, I sure hope this isn't that kind of situation.

"Troy Bolton and Nikola Funke are signed up for this Saturday." I pause and put the clipboard down. "I'm sorry Miranda."

"I'm not." She smiles. "Gabi, my sister was pregnant when the accident happened. She's not his." She closes her eyes. "She's not his!" She yells and leaps into the air, doing a happy dance.

"Well then why..."

"He still loves me. It has to be that."

"Miranda-"

"How could she not say anything to me?" Miranda pauses and puts her hands on her hip.

"Well actaully-"

"Don't answer that." She laughs. "Oh Gabi, he still cares."

"That's great?"

She sits. Her voice is all sweet, accent prominent. "Clearly, there's a problem. He should've moved on. I wonder what's keeping him."

I was suddenly thankful she couldn't hear my thoughts. It couldn't have been easy for him to walk away from the accident that killed his girlfriend, especially when he was driving.

"I must speak with him." Miranda decides.

"Pardon?" I walk out from behind the counter. "Just how do you plan on doing that?"

"Gabi, one conversation. I promise."

"I don't care how many you have, good luck trying to get him to hear you."

"Please, please, please, please!" She drops down to her knees and shuffles over to me, her floral dress flowing.

"Miranda, I can't. How do I explain knowing all of these things about him?"

"You won't have to. I'll come up with some general questions. It's kind of like what doctors would ask each patient. A script."

"Now you want to use some of your medical school knowledge? That would've help back in biology."

"You were fine! Don't think I didn't know you were only asking because of Sharpay."

"Not the point!" I roll my eyes and go back to the register. "I take no responsibility if this goes wrong. We all know that I'm not exactly the best conversationalist." Though I'm willingly giving in, I still grumble about it.

"Don't worry!" She laughs and hugs me, though I don't feel it. "What's the worst that could happen?"

In this situation? The possibilities are endless.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I love hearing your thoughts on the story! I'm in the process of writing and editing, so posts may be a little slow. This project means a lot to me, so I'm often hard at work on it, so please be patient! Also, please let me know if I miss any name changes or hsm character descriptions lol, I'm absolutely terrible with settings. **Please leave all comments, questions, and suggestions in a review or PM!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Time passed quickly and before I knew it, Saturday was here. Miranda filled me in on her entire relationship with Troy, or T as she called him. It was the nickname his basketball team had given him, and it just stuck. She'd just gotten her student visa and was studying in the US when they met at one of his games. He leaped out right in front of her to catch a ball, but collided with her instead. She explained that from the moment their eyes met, she felt sparks and butterflies. They were together for the next two years, and to quote her, definitely the real thing.

Of course, I had no idea what she was talking about, but I still listened. I have never experienced what she was taking about. Feeling butterflies and sparks? That stuff is only for books and movies. I'd longed to find that feeling for the first two years after the transplant. I learned the hard way that guys don't find scars attractive or daring the way that girls might. The one on my chest was finally starting to fade, but I wouldn't be rushing into a bikini anytime soon. I felt a new appreciation for the cool autumn weather that graced southern California.

Anyway, Miranda finally told me about the day of the accident. She didn't leave anything out from the moment T came to see her that morning. Honestly, she could left out the intimate parts of that day, but I think she was just too into the story to consider that. I understand why she's so excited and anxious.

T was a huge part of her life, having him so close must be torture. Still, I'm not thrilled about being the go between. "Okay, I've got all my questions sorted." Miranda declares, propping herself up against the counter of the craft shop. We've got thirty minutes until people start arriving.

"Okay, let's hear them." I say, setting up the last of the work stations.

"Don't worry, I've got it covered." She smiles, and it's almost mischievous.

"Hate to break it to you, but I can't read your mind."

"Believe me, I know." Miranda rolls her eyes. "I just want the conversation to go smoothly."

"And you don't think I can achieve that?"

"You may have gotten around a bit back home, but you're rubbish at chatting with people." Miranda rolls her eyes and peeks through the blinds.

"I'm going to ignore the comment where you implied I was a slut." Squinting, I see that she's almost giggling.

"That's putting it _loosely_." She laughs again. "You're not the one that had to sit through it, every single time."

"Ha-ha." I turn back to focus on my work. I'm not the outgoing type. There was only one time I ever approached a guy on my own, and he asked if I was the Frankenstein girl. Needless to say, I haven't had the nerve to do it again. Unfortunately, Miranda still remembered the one guy I'd been with and liked to tease me about it. She found it funny that after being so, enthusiastic is the word she used, with him that I was timid with others. I know she remembers the Frankenstein incident though, she just chooses not to.

"Just find your opening."

"My opening?"

"Yeah, make a joke, or a compliment. Something to get him to pay attention to you." Of course Miranda thinks this is no big deal.

"You don't think it might be a tad too soon for compliments?" It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Why can't you just tell me what you want to know?"

"The conversation has to be natural. I can't tell you what to say. I have questions, but I'll only throw in the ones that fit with the topic." Times like these make me wish someone else could see her. Like Sharpay, she'd have no trouble getting answers from T. The door chimes and in walks a few costumers. I have them sign in and direct them to their stations. "Don't worry, I'll be here if you get stuck. I know him pretty well."

I turn to her. "You could make this whole thing easier if you just tell me!" I whisper sharply.

"Tell you what? His voice is deep and raspy. I turn slowly to face him, and my heart thumps. There's a crease in his brow that makes it painfully clear that he heard me.

"Sorry, just talking to myself." T's head cocks to the side. "I just keep dropping things. Feels like my hands are working against me." I chuckle, and he nods in agreement.

"Everyone has those days." He sighs. "Is this the sign in sheet?" He asks.

"Yes. I know she's young, but some of the kids get a kick out of signing in too."

"She couldn't make it. There's this art at night thing at her school. She went to it with her mom."

"I'm sure you niece would've liked this better." I feel sorry for him and offer a smile. T stops writing and stares at me.

"How'd you know she was my niece?" His questions kicks my sweat glands into high gear."

"Tell him he marked it on the paper." Miranda says from behind me. I'd forgotten she was there.

"Oh, you wrote it on the paper." T, places the pen down but keeps staring.

"Tell him it was on the emergency contact form he filled out!" She guides me.

"The emergency contact sheet? It was the last page." God, could I screw this up any worst? "I could go get it..." There's no emergency contact form, so I really hope he doesn't ask for it.

"No, that's not necessary." He blinks and shakes his head. "It's just been a long week."

"You don't have to stay for the craft. I could process a refund for you?" I start silently praying that he'll take the refund and leave.

"Gabriella!" Miranda screeches at me, but I don't even blink.

"Nah, I promised her I'd make a house for her." Just my luck! "You don't mind, do you?" He's already heading toward the table so I don't bother answering.

"You really mucked that one up, didn't you?" I'm not in the mood for Miranda and her British slang.

"Save it." I mumble. "It's your fault I'm in this mess."

"I didn't know you'd go blurting things out about him!" She laughs. Laughs! She finds this amusing! I grumble and make my way to the work center of the store to get things going.

* * *

><p>The evening has been going smoothly. If I'm being honest, it's because I've been avoiding T like the plague. I'm still really embarrassed about earlier. Sure, my year and a half in the drama club with Shar has helped me cover my tracks, but I doubt he'll be open to conversing with me anytime soon.<p>

"You're stalling." Miranda calls from the corner of the room. I glance at her and keep making my rounds. "Gabriella, you promised me."

"Miranda, this takes time." I mutter and smile at the customers. My eyes land on T. The sight of him, all sturdy and masculine, sitting in the periwinkle kiddy chair made me smile. His eyes are definitely focusing on the house. He's put it together, and is now contemplating the design. The thought of him struggling over which shade of pink he wants the roof of his house makes me giggle, loudly. T's eyes meet mine, and I cover my mouth with my hand. The corner of his mouth twitches, but without a word, he goes back to work. I decide not to push my luck and retreat back to the paper cutter.

"Gabriella, honestly, you're not even trying." Miranda complains and hops onto the counter.

"Randa, I can't just walk up to him, that'd be totally creepy." I mutter, carefully watching to make sure no one is listening.

"Just check on his progress, you do work here, don't you?" I roll my eyes at her sassy tone. She knew damn well I wasn't running this craft, and I was pretty sure T knew it too. I had no reason for being over there.

"I am working." I defend myself by _actually_ starting to work. I grab a pile of the colored stacks of foam and start slicing it into sheets for the kids to cut into patterns.

"If you keep putting off this conversation, we'll have to hunt him down!" Sheesh, she was losing all of her marbles.

"If it's supposed to happen, it will. You can't force things like this."

"More conversations with yourself?" I look up and meet T's eyes. I can actually feel the sweat seeping from my pores and onto my forehead.

"Just nervous about a possible opportunity." I fib, quiet well, might I add. "Don't wanna jinx it." T nods his head.

"I've been there. Just got a big promotion myself, almost stressed for a month about it." He picks out a lime green foam card and hands it to me to slice.

"Ask him what he does for a living!" Miranda demands from behind me, startling me in the process. I shiver, and T watches.

"Weird draft, eh?" It's a lame cover up, so I keep going. "So, what do you do now?"

"Physical Therapist." I stare at him for a moment, wondering what happened to the athlete I'd heard so much about.

"What happened to basketball?" Miranda echoes my thoughts, now at my side.

"I would've guessed something more athletic." I shrug, and cut off some of the sheet and move it over to cut off another.

"Ah, once upon a time, maybe. But all that excitement, it'll be there tomorrow." I stop, mid slice and look up at him.

"Tomorrow's not really promised." I say, because I know that it's not.

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean you should take all those risks. An athlete's career could be over in a second, but a physical therapist, that's stable." I get a glimpse into him for a moment, but now it's gone. We remain silent, and I go back to cutting. T takes his foam sheets and heads back to his station.

I'd just began to come down for a final slice when Miranda booms, "Ask if he has a girlfriend."

I'd been so thrown off by her that I turned quickly to look at her and slid my hand left under the blade in the process. Unfortunately, I didn't have the sense to stop bringing the blade down and sliced my hand right in between my thumb and index finger, almost completely cutting off the tip of my thumb in the process.

I gasp and look down at my hand, now gushing blood heavily. "Call 911!" Someone screams. I hear the children gasping in horror, and I immediately begin to cover my hand. The gash is deep enough that I can see my flesh and the blood keeps rushing.

"I-I..." I don't know what to say. I hold my hand close to me and turn looking for anything, a bucket a cup, something to cover myself from the children.

"Is there a first aid kit?" T asks, taking my hands in his.

I blink several times before answering him. "Under the sink. Next to the glue gun."

"Grab that, please." He orders, but one of the other parents run off. I look down at my hand, and watch the blood pouring out. I can feel my breathing speed up. "Hey, hey...look at me." T says softly. I don't move. "Right at me." One of his hands covers my bloody one while the other raises my chin. "What's your name?"

"Uh...G-Gabriella." I answer, still breathing heavy.

"Gabriella, that's a pretty name."

"It's supposed to mean strength or something, but I know it's just because my mother picked out Gabriel and I turned out to be a girl. She was really just being lazy." T chuckles.

"Either way, it suits you." He smiles. T doesn't miss a beat as the parent returns with the first aid kit. His eyes leave me for a millisecond, and then I feel gauze pressing my wound. I look down, but T begins talking. "Tell me about this opportunity of yours." He starts to sit us down, and I follow his lead, crouching on the tiled floor.

"Doesn't matter now." I laugh, because I was talking to him, but no way was I going to ask him what Miranda wants. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Troy." He answers right away. "But you already knew that." He smirks. Right, I'd let him in on the fact that I'd thoroughly read his paperwork.

I blush.

Then, I wince because I can feel my hand start to throb. He doesn't miss anything. "How did you get into all of the craft stuff?" His hand squeezes mine to apply more pressure.

"It was an escape when I needed one. I can go anywhere in the world when I paint. People always talk about their happy place, mine is ever changing. Every time I pick up the brush it's somewhere new." I smile thinking about it, and T doesn't say a word.

I can hear the sirens and I start to worry again. "Hey, I'm right here, you'll be okay." He never once let go of my hand. Never stop applying pressure. "I'd love to see some of your work sometime." I can tell he's just trying to be polite and take my mind off things.

"It's not anything good, just random stuff." I look off to the side, anywhere but his eyes. My eyes find the open sign blinking above the front door.

"It's not about the content, Gabriella." He pauses. "The way you talk about painting, it's not a job for you. You just do it, and you love it. That reason alone, I already know it's going to be amazing."

That turns my gaze back to him. I look at him, really take him in, and my-oh-my was he a lot to take in. His eyes are soft and trained on mine. They are tired, but still gorgeous. His chin is sharp and square and covered with scruff, but it only adds to his overall appeal. I didn't see it before, but now I do. I completely understand why Miranda is so caught up in him. His mouth forms a half smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

My heart nearly thumps out of my chest at the sight of it.

"Will you show me sometime?"

"I'll show you anything." Breathlessly, my voice betrays me and this time the sweat floods onto my head and in my armpits. T looks down, and raises his eyebrows a little, but his smile definitely breaks through.

This time, I'm certain my heart did a flip.

Thankfully, the paramedics enter and save me from any more embarrassment. T doesn't let go until the very last moment, and nods at me when he does. The change in my hand without his grasping it is almost painful. I can feel all the blood rushing to the wound and fighting to get out.

I wince, and try to answer the paramedic questions despite the pain. I keep my eyes on T, wondering if he'll leave, but he keeps watch for a good amount of time. "You'll have to come to the Emergency Room and get some stitches." A blonde female EMT informs me.

"I have to call my boss. I can't leave the store." I start reaching for my cell with my free hand. My blood has started to dry and my fingers are stiff. I fumble, unable to unlock my phone with the touch screen feature.

"I'll call him. Carter is an old friend." T says, immediately bringing his phone to his ear.

"Thanks, T." His face hardens at the use of his name. Without another word he steps away from the crowd.

The EMTs help me up onto the stretcher and cart me off toward the ambulance outside the store. The entire thing seems a little over the top, given my last trip in an ambulance was because of much more serious circumstances. Regardless, they pack me up into the vehicle and close it up.

"Gabriella..." Oh my God! I completely forgot all about her.

"Miranda-"

"Gabriella, I'm so sorry."

"Oh, Mir-"

"I had no idea that I'd catch you off guard like that. I probably should've waited for you to be seated."

"Miranda, it's okay."

"Oh, Gabriella. I feel terrible. You were already so nervous...I just wanted to talk to him. I shouldn't have pressed on like that."

"Don't worry, believe it or not, it actually broke the ice." I laugh lightly, but Miranda just stares. After a moment, she takes a seat beside me.

"He was so gentle with you." She murmurs, looking as though her mind is a million miles away. "He didn't even blink and took care of you. Taking your mind off the pain, keeping pressure on your wound to stop the bleeding..." I'm actually starting to feel a little guilty. My mind was everywhere but on Miranda. For a while, it was like she didn't exist.

"He seems like a really nice guy." I'm not sure my words are of any comfort to her, but I don't think there is anything else I can do. Tonight was the first time the limitations of what Miranda can do were ever really put into perspective. No matter how much she wanted to, she would never be able to feel what I felt, just simply holding his hand, with anyone ever again. I need to apologize. "Miranda, I-"

"Okay hun," The blonde paramedic climbs in the ambulance with me. "We're gonna get you all stitched up and send ya home." She beams and plops down on the bench across from me. Half a second later, she pulls out her phone and starts typing as the vehicle pulls off into traffic. I press my lips together and glance at Miranda. She's gone back into silent mode.

Guess my apology will have to wait.

* * *

><p>After answering what felt like a million questions, I finally got so pain medicine to help numb me before I get stitched up. It took less time than normal since the hospital already had me on file. It saved me the explanation of what medicines I was taking and which I was advised to steer clear of.<p>

I cradle the gauzed hand with my good one and stare aimlessly at the television. It's a nice-sized flat screen, bigger than the dinky 35 inch one Sharpay and I have at our apartment. My makeshift room is sectioned off with yellow, plaid printed curtains. Since they don't reach the ground, I can see the feet of the person next to me, moving constantly. I roll my eyes and look up at the ceiling.

I learned at a young age that normal trips to the emergency room take at least three hours to get everything done, and at the most six. It's a whole different time frame when you're admitted, but at least I don't have to worry about that this time.

"Knock, knock." A man says, just outside of my curtain. I smile, thankful he was considerate enough to let me know he was entering.

"Come in."

"Hey," And my savior steps through the door. "How're you holding up?" T asks, closing the curtain behind him.

"I'm better." I smile at him. "Medicated." He chuckles.

"I talked with Carter. He sends his best, wants you to call him in the morning."

"Thank you for that. I would've been in big trouble." He nods his head. "Have you known him a while?"

"Carter?" I nod. Then I gesture to the chair. "His eldest daughter and I went to high school together. He's popular in the neighborhood."

"That's really cool. I wish I could've met his family. He speaks so highly of them, but they're almost never home to visit. He has so many stories to tell about when they were my age." He sits, facing me, arms folded and leaning on his knees. I start to laugh at the thought of Carter rambling on about the trouble his eldest would get into with boys. He swears up and down that they're the sole reason he's gone completely silver.

"Is that where you heard?" He interrupts me, and I can see his eyes are much more intense.

"Heard what?"

"About me? Did he say something about..."

"I...I'm not sure what you mean." I answer honestly. Carter has never mentioned him by name, the only reason I know anything about him is Miranda, but it's not like I can let that cat out of the bag.

"You called me T." My body goes stiff, but his gaze never falters. "No one has called me that in...years." Shit! How do I get out of this?

"I'm..." Think Gabriella! "I just...I'm notorious for giving nicknames

"Seriously?"

"Afraid so." I shrug. "I'm one of those types that can't help but blurt out the first cool sounding thing that comes to mind." He continues to stare at me. There's no way he's buying any of this.

"Sorry," He shakes his head slightly, and then lets it hang. I hear him chuckle. "I've just grown out of the nickname is all. Call me Troy."

"I should apologize. You've done so much for me, and then I insult you-"

"Gabriella, I am not insulted." He chuckles again. The use of my full name makes my cheeks warm.

"Still...thank you, I don't think things would've gone so smooth if you hadn't decided to make a birdhouse tonight."

"Ah, well maybe we'll just call it even if you agree not to tell anyone about my excessive use of pink puff paints." A huge laugh escapes me, and to my dismay, a snort along with it. Immediately, my laughter stops and I glance at Troy to see if he caught it. His face scrunches and he laughs. Cue tomato red body shading.

"You have a deal as long as you don't tell anyone about my snorting." He nods his head, and flashes me a smile.

"Gabriella Joy Montez!" My little curtain rapidly slides open, instantly grabbing my attention. "I cannot believe you nearly chop off your hand and don't have the decency to call me!" Sharpay huffs and charges in. "How is your mother going to feel when-" She stops and eyes Troy. "Who are you?" She asks.

"I-"

Shar turns to me, "Well, I can see why you didn't call." She flips her hair over her shoulder. "Carter called me, and I rushed from the restaurant."

"Sharpay, you really didn't have to." I see Troy rise from his seat.

"I'm going to head out. It was nice meeting you, Gabriella." He waves, and exits before I have a chance to say anything.

"Thanks again!" I call, but I don't believe he heard. I frown, because this whole night should have been very different.

"You've got major explaining to do missy." Sharpay says, pulling the chair closer to the bed and plopping down.

This is going to be a long night.

* * *

><p><strong>An: Please excuse any of my editing errors! I wanted to get this out to you guys quick. Hopefully you all enjoyed it! Please feel free to leave any comments, suggestions, and questions in a review! Or, PM me if you'd like. I'll answer them as best I can without giving things away! Thanks again!<strong>


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